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Neighborhood Kids

I return to sit atop the brick mailbox, its smooth, curved top providing a fine spot to view my past.

I feel the breeze blow against my right, my hair bouncing every so often.

Present and past selves sit next to one another. I can see through his eyes and he through mine.

I miss them.

I hold the memories like a baby bird.

How the Summers of the past have spoiled me.

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Author:

My name is Michael and I'm an aspiring writer. I enjoy writing fiction as well as little blips of things that will pop into my head from time to time. I've always loved expressing myself through writing and creating a world all my own. I hope you enjoy!

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